The Other: Book 1
by shaunathan
Summary: The events of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone told through the eyes of a different student of Hogwarts, Emily Busch.
1. Not Exactly a Report Card

Chapter 1- Not Exactly a Report Card

Emily flinched as a softball whizzed past her face. She hadn't even noticed the throw happening in the first place; she'd been preoccupied by contemplating a deep abstract concept.

"You're supposed to throw the ball at _me_ , Harriet!" a girl with short, brown hair and pale skin shouted to whomever had thrown the ball as she ran past Emily to retrieve the projectile. She flashed her an apologetic grin, "Sorry, Emily," as she passed, and then continued to the yellow sphere's resting place.

Emily was surprised this girl even knew her name. They were in the same class, yes, but Emily hardly ever said a word unless asked to by the teacher, effectively solidifying her conversational invisibility. Most of the students didn't even know she existed until she said something, and then forgot right after she stopped talking.

She shrugged this off as an exception to prove the rule and continued walking through her school, the Elridge School for Girls, courtyard. It was the last day of school for the middle school there, and Emily couldn't wait to be out so she could just celebrate her birthday in peace.

That wasn't normal thinking for her.

See, Emily loved school. She would've preferred it to go year-round if possible. However, after she'd made the large skip of fourth grade to seventh, that attitude had started to change. It wasn't that the course material was too hard. That wasn't a problem at all. In fact, she had wanted to skip straight to eighth grade, but the school had put its food down at seventh. No, it was the other children.

She didn't fit in. It wasn't like one of those teenage drama things that people always put on television or wrote about or anything; it was that she was three years younger than most of her classmates.

Emily had always been extremely intelligent for her age. Her only limitation was that she could never work up he courage to ask the questions she needed answers to in class. Therefore she turned to books to allow her to learn at her level of knowledge accumulation. She started simple, learning only the things she needed to know or her classes. Then she borrowed some of the future material… and then the next year's, and then the year's after that…. until she was three years ahead of where she should be–and learning faster than many people thought possible. Her fourth grade teacher had even told her parents in a conference that she was an 'anomaly of the modern age with a mind like a natural information siphon'. Thus had come the grade skipping and inevitable age difference.

A ten year old in a class of thirteen year olds didn't strike most people as normal, and so any feeble attempt she made at fitting in always fell flat, and from that came the feeling of being the unfitting piece in the picture puzzle, and the abstract concept she'd been pondering: loneliness.

The weird incidents didn't help either.

There was that time in second grade when a bully had been chasing her, and then she'd passed straight through a locked door. She couldn't explain how she'd gotten into the principal's office, which was locked from the inside, while he was still inside it without touching the door at all. Then a year after, the only teacher she'd ever not liked had somehow had all her hair fall out during a lesson after falsely accusing her of hiding all the chalk. That teacher had been more than ready to accuse her least favorite student (Emily) of 'unwavering eye contact during the incident', even though nobody was exactly sure how eye contact could make hair fall out.

Thunder clapped over her head, and Emily flinched at the sound before pulling her jacket's hood over her long, pale blond hair in defense against the first drops of rain, and quickened her pace.

"Happy birthday!"

Those were the two words that Emily was greeted with when she opened the door to her parents' apartment, met with the four smiling faces of her mother, father, little brother, and Grandmother Abby. She returned the smile as she saw how silly they looked in their multicolored birthday hats, especially her grandmother, whose frizzy gray hair hadn't changed a bit since Emily had last seen her, two whole years ago.

Her grandmother, on her mom's side, because the one on her dad's was dead, didn't visit much, always seeming to be traveling in her retirement to some place or another. It was a genuinely rare sight to see her welcoming her granddaughter home from the last day of school.

Emily realized that pressure was now on her to say something, and so she said, "Guys, my birthday's at nine o'clock," as she took off her backpack and jacket, setting the former on the ground and hanging the latter on the coat hooks.

"I know, and I told your parents, "9:37:25, on the second or it won't be right", but then insisted on surprising you now. Hello, by the way, dear," her grandmother said, eyes glowing almost literally, ending her story with a greeting which Emily quietly returned.

"Oh, don't mind her," her mother told her father, who looked almost offended by the indirectly offensive comment. She then turned her attention to Emily. "So were you surprised?"

Emily frowned, thinking back to when she'd first opened the door. It didn't usually take much to startle her, but this time she'd almost been expecting a surprise party, since it was considered to her parents to be a double special occasion, the end of the school year _and_ her birthday. She actually hadn't been surprised at all this time. "Erm, no, I wasn't."

"Come on, mom, why do you even ask her?" Emily's brother Jonathan, eight years old, said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Emily _never_ gets surprised."

Emily flushed and tried to hide behind her hair as she edged her way towards the left-side wall, starting to feel uncomfortable at the entrance of the apartment.

"Oh come on, Jon, it's her special day," her father chided. He then grinned his usual wild grin at his daughter. "We've got pizza and cake, Emily, your favorite!"

"I'm lighting the cake this time!" Grandmother Abby said excitedly, hurrying into the kitchen just a little too fast. "I _love_ fire!"

"The candles, mother, not the cake," Emily's mom called, running in after grandmother to stop her from potentially lighting the cake on fire, and the rest of the family followed after.

Throughout the whole pizza dinner and awkward conversation until the minute of Emily's actual birthday, her grandmother seemed to be more fidgety than usual, constantly checking her wristwatch or glancing out the windows as if she was expecting something. Emily wanted to say something, but was unsure of what the consequences might be. Her grandmother was a bit of a wild card, and intimidating as she was old.

The hours went by with an agonizing lack of haste, and the time was 9:36. Emily had protested as usual, but her mother and father insisted that they had to sing happy birthday like they did every year.

Her father turned the lights down a little and then stuck eleven candles in the shape of an eleven in the cake, lighting them with a match so that the candles burned two fiery lines above the frosting, so that it seemed to draw all attention in the room. It was almost as if that fire meant something more than just burning carbon.

"Make a wish, sis," Jonathan murmured, as fixated on the blazing eleven as she was.

Emily heard her grandmother muttering under her breath. It sounded like she was saying something every second, as if she was counting down the seconds. Focusing on what she was saying, Emily caught that she was on 'fifteen', and began counting in her own mind.

 _Fourteen_ … What did she wish for? Was there anything she actually wanted… or needed?

 _Eleven_ … Did she want to fit in with the other students at Elridge? Was that really what she wanted?

 _Five_ … Or did she maybe want to start over with her studies?

 _Two_ … Perhaps something that she could learn with others her age… some sort of study she was completely new to. Yes. That was her wish.

 _One_ … 'I wish,' she thought, closing her eyes, 'I wish for a chance to start over. To be able to fit in for once.'

One second later, there was a thud on the window.

Emily jumped at the sound, and then blushed at how surprised she'd been by it. She'd almost forgotten that she could hear other sounds besides her grandmother's whispering, her heartbeat, and her own thoughts. What could that noise have been caused by, though?

Grandmother Abby let out a sound that seemed somewhere in between scolding and disdain, hurrying over towards the glass door that separated the small balcony from the interior of the apartment. "I swear," she muttered as she flung back the curtains, letting the darkness of the storm stream inside. "This new generation of post owls is so incompetent! What kind of owl are you if you can't even fly in a storm!"

She opened the door and quickly yanked in a brown… thing by what appeared to be one of its legs before slamming the door shut once more before too much rain could seep in. The thing seemed to Emily to be some sort of feathered bird, but not in the shape of a falcon, hawk, crow, robin, pigeon… that ruled out everything but owl, like her grandmother had said.

"Dear Lord, it's unconscious!" Emily's mother exclaimed, seeing the way the owl hung limply upside down. Her father rushed forward and quickly took the owl, setting it down on Jonathan's unused plate.

"Eww, that's nasty!" Jon drew himself backward at that action, but then laughed as their father began pressing on the owl's stomach with his pointer fingers, as if he was pumping its stomach. "Dad, I'm pretty sure that's _not_ how you wake up an owl."

"Bah, we don't need the actual owl!" Grandmother Abby waved a hand in front of her to show the exact extent of how dismissing she was of the owl. She then stared pointedly at her daughter. "Joanna, I certainly hope _you_ at least know what's going on!"

Emily's mother sighed. "Yes, I do." She reached down and removed a pouch from the owl's leg, and then looked at Emily. "Mom, Emily, you two come with me into the main room. Frank, Jon…" She looked at Emily's father and Jonathan, the former now poking the owl in between its closed eyes, getting increasingly worried, and the latter still in a fit of laughter over the entire incident. "Just keep doing what you're doing."

In the main room, Emily was told to sit down in the chair by her mother, who took a seat on the table island herself, and her grandmother slouched on the couch, to Emily's left, seeming unperturbed by the events.

Emily slowly sat down, unsure of what was supposed to happen here and what was in the pouch her mother was holding, refusing to let herself sink into the chair's cushions. It wasn't too much of a problem for her; she was small and light, and the cushions were pretty solid. She spoke for the first time since the owl had rammed into the window. "Wh-what's going on?"

Her mother cleared her throat, giving her that almost panicky look she got when she wasn't sure how to approach a topic. She'd looked the exact same way when Emily had asked her what exactly 'intercourse' meant when it was brought up in books. "Well, dear, you know how sometimes those strange things happen to you? Like when you passed straight through a door?"

"Um…" Emily wasn't sure where this was going, and wherever it was, she already didn't like it. "Yes?"

"You see, those kinds of things are completely natural for…" Her mother did the motion she often did when she stopped in the middle of a sentence and couldn't figure out how to complete it without it sounding wrong, where she would briefly bury her face in her hand and sigh. "For… the kind of person you are. Not," she added hastily. "To say that you're not normal, which you are completely, just in your own special way…"

Emily felt hurt at that statement. All her life her mother and father had told her that she was as normal as she could possibly be, that she wasn't different in a bad way at all. Why would that suddenly shift to talking about normal as if it weren't normal, and instead a bad thing. "B-but what do you mean?"

Grandmother Abby made the scolding/disdainful noise again. "Joanna, I thought you were better at this parenting thing than this!" She gestured towards Emily. "If you don't stop this right now your daughter's going to cry!"

Emily was about to say something to the contrary, when her grandmother continued.

"Oh, if you're going to be such a chicken about it, I'll tell her!" She reached forward and turned Emily's shoulders so that they were looking at each other face to face. "Emily, you're a witch."

That was the final straw on the camel's back. Emily couldn't believe that even her grandmother was talking bad about her, and had stooped to the level of petty insults to do so. "W-well, I see how it is," she said weakly, feeling tears spring to her eyes. "Thanks for the insults… and the worst birthday ever!" She wiped at her eyes as she rose to walk out, but felt her mother's hand on her shoulder pushing her back down into her seat rather roughly, and so she sat back down with her arms crossed angrily, biting her lower lip in an attempt to stop her crying.

"I'm sorry about that, Emily," her mother apologized, her expression sympathetic. "But you can't leave just yet. Not until we've explained."

"I didn't mean it as an insult, dear," her grandmother rolled her eyes. "Why would I? I only said it because it's the truth. I'm one too, and your mother would be one as well, if I hadn't been young and stupid and married a muggle."

Emily wasn't sure whether to be offended for her mother or not, mostly because she was just too confused at the comment. "A muggle?"

"Nonmagic folk." Her grandmother waved her hand in what seemed to be a dismissive motion. "Don't get me wrong, Richard was a perfectly nice man, but he just wasn't magic."

Emily began to wonder whether 'magic' was some sort of code word for something else, and considered maybe trying to leave again before something 'magical' actually happened.

Grandmother Abby sat up all of a sudden, a gleam in her eyes. "But I don't think I'm the best person for you to talk to right now. Why don't you just tell Mister Buzzy how you feel?"

Mister Buzzy had been a childhood stuffed animal of Emily's that she had once used as a mechanism of emotional relief to tell all her darker feelings to. Now she recognized that it was simply a child's psychological diversion away from the stress of having to have an actual internal confrontation of the issues, but what did that have to do with what was going on right now?

She then felt the familiar fuzzy texture of the stuffed bee on her arm, and jumped as she looked down and saw the yellow and black striped stuffed animal sitting on the arm of the chair she occupied. She slowly, hesitantly took one of the thread fibers of the bee's fuzzy coat and gingerly lowered it onto the ground, now somewhat scared of the once-friendly Mister Buzzy.

"Mother, stop showing off," Emily's mother chided, glaring at Grandmother Abby. "You're going to scare her."

"Like that one, dear?" Emily's grandmother asked with a large, toothy grin. "Short-range, external, summoning apparation. If it'll prove it to you that magic's real, I can snap my fingers and make all your clothes disappear just like that."

Emily suddenly felt inclined to cross her legs and pull down her uniform skirt more than usual.

Her mother cleared her throat almost so loudly that it sounded as if she might have caught some sort of sickness. "My mother's point is that all those strange incidents you had where things happened that you couldn't explain were all just caused by you releasing some of your innate magic that you simply couldn't control. Completely normal."

"But," Emily held up her hand to get them to stop talking for a moment. Normally she wouldn't be that assertive, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "Gran's magic, and _you_ aren't, but _I_ am?"

"Yeah, so your parents are muggles." Grandmother Abby shrugged. "You've studied that fancy biology. Remember Punnet Squares? This is the same thing." She began to trace square diagrams in the air with a finger. "You've got two half magic parents, you've got a one four chance of ending up with a nonmagic kid. But trace that to the next generation, if two recessive magical traces met up just right, you could get a kid who can do magic! That's you, dear. Your brother, though…"

Emily nodded, having done the math in her head. "Yeah, I get it. I'm magic, but Jon probably isn't."

Her mother nodded along, but kept her worried expression. "Emily? Are you okay? You seem to be taking all this rather calmly."

Calmly? _Calmly_?! Emily's mind was reeling with the complete illogic of this whole situation: the owl, the magic, the pouch–for all she knew, that little bag contained magic beans that she could grow a giant beanstalk with, climb, and steal giant gold from giants! And what was she even supposed to _try to_ feel about all this?!

But on the topic of the bag…

"What's in the pouch?" Emily pointed at the pouch that her mother was clutching the drawstring to. "You grabbed that because it was important, right?"

"Mail." Her mother opened up the pouch and pulled out an envelope to large to possibly fit in there. She handed Emily the envelope and closed the bag, the worry lines on her face deepening to levels never before reached.

"Is it my report card?" Emily asked in a voice a few pitches higher than usual.

"Not exactly. Emily, dear, I think that you might need to read this alone so you can think about it. Go on to your and Jon's room and think it over for a while after you've read it. It's a very big choice, and I don't want you to decide too hastily."

Emily slowly took the letter and stared at the address printed in calligraphy red print on the back of the envelope:

 ** _Ms. E. Busch_**

 ** _Room Shared with her Brother Jonathan_**

 ** _842 Heights Towers_**

 ** _Corner Street_**

 ** _London_**

If the letter itself hadn't intrigued her enough, now there was the eerily accurate information they had on where she lived.

She stared at the ink on the back of the envelope as she stood up and began to walk out of the room, towards her own.

After her grandmother called out, "And I promise not to make your clothes disappear while you're thinking!" she tuned out all the noise of her brother's laughter at her father's futile attempts to wake the unconscious owl, and of the rain on the window, and even of her own heartbeat. All that mattered was that she was going to read this letter now, and she wasn't going to let anybody stop her from getting to her room so she could do it.

When she'd finally settled down on her mattress on the bottom of the bunk bed that she and her brother shared, she opened the yellowish envelope (which was rather neatly folded and seemed to be actually glued shut), pulling out the contents, two folded sheets of paper.

She unfolded one first, and found a very elaborately designed heading that, without its elegant design, read:

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

The rest of the letter read something like this:

 _Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

 _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Magwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 _Dear Ms. Busch,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

 _Term Begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress_

Emily refolded the letter, having read this. Unsure of what to do next with it, she slid it back into the envelope, and fell backwards so that she rested flat on the bed. The envelope fluttered to the floor, and she rolled over so that her back was facing toward it.

She just needed time to think about what she'd wanted to do. That was all. That was all she needed. By the time she woke up, she'd be ready to make her decision of whether or not to take this strange acceptance letter, or to go back to her normal life.

But then… wasn't this exactly what she'd wished for? This was a way to restart her studies with other students her age that were on the same level of a completely new topic, wasn't it? Why shouldn't she go? It sure would be cool to learn about magic, especially since she was probably the only one out of the apartment who could even use it, besides her grandmother, but when was she around?

She felt herself dozing off. Today had been a very long day, and she could answer the question tomorrow. She _would_ answer the question tomorrow. She _would not_ make her decision tonight. There was absolutely no way she was going to take such a chance without at least a night's sleep on–

Grandmother Abby was honestly becoming worried. She had to leave soon. There was that conference in Norway concerning some of the bylaws in the International Laws of Magical Practice. She couldn't afford to miss that for the world.

Then the door to Emily's room slammed open, and she walked calmly down the hallway, stopping at the mouth of the hall that led to the main room.

"I'm going to Hogwarts to study magic," she said quietly, in that same whispery voice that had made Grandmother Abby consider hearing aids a few years ago. Then she turned around and walked back inside her room without another word.

 **Whee, I write Harry Potter stuff too. Well, here it is. If you all like it, I'm sorry, but don't expect updates to happen too much. I've got a lot of other stuff to work on.**

 **But otherwise, I hope you like it! Remember to Follow, Favorite, and leave your thoughts in a Review!**

 **Radicool223 out!**


	2. Three Up, Two Across

Chapter 2- Three Up, Two Across

Two months later Grandmother Abby returned, this time to take Emily to get her school supplies at a special place called Diagon Alley. Emily _had_ been wondering for a while about how she would be able to attain an iron cauldron or a magic wand in 1997 London ( **the same time as the release of the first HP book** ) It would be a feat to even get anyone to look at her normally if she mentioned anything about looking for a magic wand or something else wizard-like on the list.

It had taken some getting used to the fact that she was a witch, but once she had, she'd done a bit of reading up on the book Grandmother had given her for her birthday present, entitled _Remedial Magic for the Muggle Born_ , and according to that her magic wasn't restricted to use with only a wand. That was how she'd managed to do some of the impossible things like passing straight through a door. However, according to the book, once she was aware of her own magic ability, it would be much harder for her to perform any magic at all without a way to channel it. Only advanced wizards were able to do things like that.

Her parents had taken care of all the paperwork required to pull her out of Elridge (their excuse was that she was going to a boarding school outside of England), and even managed to borrow an owl from somewhere that they paid in a strange coinage to deliver the letter that the McGonagall lady had requested in the acceptance letter. The only thing left for her to do was get her school supplies, and her parents had assured her that the only person who could do that was Grandmother Abby.

Emily was lying on her bed reading the aforementioned book for about the twentieth time when she suddenly heard a loud crack, followed closely by the sound of a glass breaking, and then her mother yelling, "MOTHER, I _TOLD_ YOU TO STOP DOING THAT!"

Slowly sitting up, Emily marked the page in the book (now heavily dog-eared and with post-it notes stuck in several places) and began to cautiously walk towards the kitchen. She was pretty sure of who it was that had _caused_ the commotion, but her mother had sounded furious, and when her mother was angry, whoever was around got burned from the nuclear bomb that was her outrage. Emily typically tried to avoid that.

As she tiptoed down the hall, she saw Grandmother, this time dressed in a cloak, dusting herself off and putting away a withered stick Emily could only assume was her magic wand inside the garment.

"Well, I'm _sorry_ , Samantha, but I just can't figure out the public transportation systems," Grandmother Abby said in retaliation to her daughter. "Why do muggles think that those infernal schedules are better than walking on foot? Honestly, if they weren't entirely nonsensical, they might be more efficient!"

"I'M ONE OF THOSE MUGGLES, MOTHER!" Emily's mother was angrier than she'd ever been. It seemed that her birth was a touchy subject. As Emily walked in the room, she appeared to try to calm down, sweeping some of her orange hair that had fallen into her face back and letting out a huge sigh. Even still, Emily waited a few seconds just to make sure it would be safe, her timidity getting the best of her once again.

"Um, hi," she said quietly.

Grandmother looked at her and broke out with a grin that seemed almost _too_ enthusiastic. It was disconcerting, and made Emily wonder once again whether studying magic was such a good idea. "Emily, dear! It's good too see you again!" She spread her arms wide for a hug, but lowered them awkwardly when Emily didn't take it. "Well, are you ready to pick up your school supplies?"

Emily, instead of responding vocally, held up the list she'd kept in her shorts' pocket for seven weeks now, and then looked at her mother for permission.

Her mother sighed and waved her hand dismissively, bending down to clean up the shards of glass that had once been a plate. "Yes, just go–teleport out of here before I change my mind!"

"Actually, Samantha, it's _apparating_." Grandmother corrected. "Teleportation is completely different–"

"GO!"

Grandmother Abby didn't bother arguing, and instead pulled out her wand once more, strode over, grabbed Emily by the shoulder and in a gut-wrenching shift of space and scenery, the house was gone, replaced by a mostly brown-colored… bar?

Emily didn't have time to worry about that, though, because she was now very nauseas, and, clapping a hand over her mouth to make sure she didn't lose her lunch all over the floor, ran to the nearest bucket-shaped thing she could find and let loose the contents of her stomach into it.

"Ay, 'asmy puke buk–hic –bucket," a man's voice slurred, and Emily, now less nauseas and more woozy, looked up to see a heavily-warted man in a black cloak, red wizard's hat, and a bright green scarf looking down at her lazily from a stool at the bar.

On second thought, though, that laziness may have actually been drunkenness, and the mismatched clothing proof of it. Either way, she backed up quickly and wiped her mouth. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," she apologized hurriedly, trying to avoid a confrontation.

"It dunn'treally matter much, do it?" the man snorted, shifting his gaze back to his mug of buttery yellow liquid. "'Sall puke anyway, innit? Still, sumpersons like myselfs migh'take offense, y'know?"

Emily was saved from having to respond by Grandmother, who put a hand firmly on her shoulder and resolved the situation decisively by saying, "Puke buckets are public, sir. They've always been that way," and then guiding Emily a bit forcefully to what looked like the back entrance of the bar, where they went through the door and stood in the back alley, faced by a wall of bricks.

Emily's eyes felt like they couldn't go any wider, as shocked as she was with how sudden everything now seemed after the 'apparation', or whatever Grandmother had called it. She gulped, getting the sinking feeling that she'd done something wrong. "I–sorry…" she said, staring at her feet to attempt to steady her vision.

Grandmother shook her head, looking back at the door and seeming almost frightened at what had just happened. "No, no, it's my fault. I apparated to the wrong spot. Anyway, you didn't know about Mismatched Dan."

"Mismatched Dan?" Emily asked, wondering if she'd heard that wrong. She allowed herself to look up, but instantly regretted it, and looked back down as her headache increased tenfold.

"The Leaky Cauldron's drunk," Grandmother explained, now walking over to the brick wall and trying to find something on it (now that Emily thought about it, it was odd that the alley was completely enclosed, and that there weren't any garbage cans to be picked up). "He's half-troll, and never really sober. He usually challenges people to fights over stupid things like puke bucket infringement, and wins by using his troll-stench to knock them out. It's just bad luck we came here on the same day he did."

Emily tried to sort out what she'd just said with her still-recovering brain. "Leaky Cauldron. Drunk. Half-troll. Puke buckets." For some reason her mind told her to ask a question about the last item on that list rather than the first or, most blaringly, third. "What are puke buckets?"

Grandmother grunted. "Believe me, if you had some of the stuff they have in the wizarding world, you'd want a bucket too. I mean sure," she waved her hand in the air like she was pushing aside potential arguments like metaphorical bees. "You have a better tolerance than muggles, being magic, but still, it's powerful stuff."

Emily put her hand on the wall to stabilize herself and took a deep breath, giving herself another chance to look up without her vision swimming. This time she recovered well enough, and she now saw Grandmother counting bricks on the wall. "Grandmother, wh-what are you doing?"

"Finding the right one, of course," Grandmother explained, not taking her attention away from the wall. She seemed to start at one particular brick, then count three rows upward and two bricks to the left, and then she drew her wand again and tapped the brick she'd landed on.

Emily wasn't sure if what happened next was part of some vivid hallucination from the 'apparation' or not. All she knew was that the bricks were now moving, folding back upon themselves like some sort of machine and working their way from the brick Grandmother had tapped outward until they opened up entirely, exposing that the wall wasn't a wall at all, and instead a doorway to…

Emily nearly passed out at what she was seeing. From the 'apparation' to the point where the bricks had started moving, her mind had told her, "Okay, sure. It's all too weird anyway, so why not?" But when she saw the crowded street behind the wall, chock full of impossible things, another wave of headache smashed down onto her, and she put a hand to the side of her head to stop herself from fainting.

Grandmother Abby didn't seem to notice her granddaughter's overload, and she grabbed her forearm, pulling her along through the brick portal and into the wizarding street. "Welcome, dear, to Diagon Alley."

Coming Soon… Chapter 3- Magic to the Max


	3. Magic to the Max

Diagon Alley was big. Diagon Alley was wide. And most of all, Diagon Alley was filled with magic. That was the part that stood out the most to Emily. On each side of the road there were countless shops that had amazing things through their glass windows, like rats that were skipping rope and hats that blew up only to piece themselves back together seconds later.

It was almost a total overload to Emily's system to see all these strange and outlandish sights all at once. She felt like she would be okay if she were to see one thing, be able to check it off in her mind that yes, okay, that was possible, and then move on to the next. But instead it was all thrust in front of her at once, and that, with her temperament, meant she was running at full capacity, and so it wasn't so surprising that she quickly got a headache.

Grandmother, though, was completely fine with all this magical stuff, and kept moving forward towards the back of the alley without hesitance, practically dragging Emily along behind her.

"Wh-where are we going?" Emily finally worked up the nerve to ask the question she'd been wanting to since they began walking.

"Gringotts Bank," Grandmother Abby answered promptly, navigating her way through a crowd of wizards and witches who appeared to be about sixteen, and were marveling at a tap dancing table inside a shop window. She continued, "Quite literally the safest place in the world, besides maybe Hogwarts Castle or the Pentagon in America."

"The Pentagon?"

"Oh, sure. That place is reinforced by a ton of magic barriers. It's the American wizarding government's capital, except the actual offices are way farther underground than that silly little building Muggles see on the surface."

"Oh…" Emily mumbled. "I see." She didn't really see, but it seemed like the proper answer to give. Then Grandmother's actual answer to her question resurfaced in her mind. "You said 'Gringotts Bank'. Why are we going to a bank?"

Grandma kept speed walking as she answered, forcing Emily to take up a slight trot to keep up. "Well, you might not understand this yet, I mean, you've only just turned eleven, but it's not really the greatest idea to keep all your money in your pockets at all times, so most people store their fortunes in a bank until they're needed."

"But," Emily persisted, confused. "Don't you have a credit card?"

"Well," Grandma shrugged. "I guess I do, but that's only for my Muggle money–I mean pounds. It's not like those have any real value in the wizarding world as they are."

"Then what kind of money does?"

"Oh, Knuts, Sickles, Galleons, that sort of thing. It's much too complicated to convert that all to pounds and such, so I keep them separate."

Again Emily found herself completely befuddled by her Grandmother's use of proper nouns for which she had no definition. She let out some sort of sound of acknowledgement of what Grandmother had said, and continued walking.

About thirty seconds later, Grandmother abruptly stopped, causing Emily to continue walking for a beat before she realized that they were no longer moving forward. She quickly hurried back to Grandmother's side, not wanting to get lost in this place, and looked where Abby was looking.

The building that had attracted Grandmother's attention was a large, irregularly built tower that rose above all the other buildings around it. Emily wasn't sure how she'd managed to miss it until now, but now that she saw it, it took her breath away. It was made of white stone and built in an architectural style that suggested it wasn't anywhere near recently constructed, looking almost like a castle's tower. The way it stood was warped, though, and it almost appeared to have been built by a child, since each vertical section of it leaned one way or another, and it appeared that the only thing that balanced it was… magic. This thing couldn't possibly still be standing if it was built as long ago as it appeared to have been.

Gray stone steps led up to its wooden oak doors, and a small golden sign was attached to one of the doors, though it was too far away to read at the moment.

"Well, here it is," Grandmother announced. "Gringotts Bank, the safest place on earth. Nothing gets in or out without explicit permission from the employees, and if you try… you'll be sorry." With that ominous statement, she looked down at Emily and grinned. "Come on, let's go!"

As they entered the doors, Emily paused for a moment to read the sign on the door, though it took her a minute because there was more text than she expected. It read:

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed,

For those who take, but do not earn

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

The last bit of the poem sent a chill down Emily's spine. She wondered what 'more than treasure' meant. After a moment's thought about how dangerous the magic she had seen in the alley could be if applied to a person, she decided she didn't want to find out, and hurried in after Grandmother.

Once inside, things got even weirder. The bank wasn't arranged like you would expect, but instead it looked like a long hall with one large desk at the end, and on either side long desks that stretched the entire hall with spaced out work areas for the employees, where they were busy scribbling on sheets of paper.

On the topic of the employees, at first glance, Emily thought they were children. Then she realized that children wouldn't be working, and changed her assumption to midgets. But then she took a closer look at them, and found that they weren't simply short, but also had nonhuman features. Their noses were elongated and ended in a point, and their ears had the same treatment. In fact, nearly feature they had seemed pointier than a human. She reached the conclusion that they were magical creatures, and, based on what she'd seen in books, most probably goblins.

Grandmother led her to the back of the bank, to the large desk that seated only one goblin. The goblin looked down his long nose at them and said. "Business?"

"Abigail Espera Petrel would like to make a withdrawal," Grandmother stated flatly. She reached into her cloak pocket and pulled out an oddly shaped object. "Here's my key." She held the key up to the goblin, who took it, examined it for a moment, and then nodded its assent, handing it back.

"Right," the goblin said. "Griphook!"

Another goblin came shuffling out from behind the desk. He didn't look much different than the one at the desk, but Emily guessed upon closer inspection she would find subtle differences between the desk goblin and the one that was apparently called Griphook.

She didn't get to do that, though, because Griphook led her and Grandmother back behind the desk to a door through which there was a large cavern and a mine cart on rails that extended into the darkness.

Griphook picked up a lamp once they were in the cavern and shut the door behind him, plunging the three into utter darkness, save for a few torches and, of course, the lamp. Griphook and Abby got into the minecart right away, and Emily followed cautiously after.

"Are there any seatbelts?" she asked nervously, looking over the side of the cart and gulping at the near-infinite drop she saw beneath her.

"You've got arms, right?" Griphook asked.

"Y-yes?" What sort of question was that?

Griphook gave a nasty smile. "Well then you'd better hang on."

There were no seatbelts, Emily concluded from that exchange. A moment later the cart lurched forward and she clamped her hands so tightly on the sides of the cart that her knuckles turned ghostly white. This felt uncannily like a roller coaster, and she'd always been petrified of roller coasters.

Then the ride began.

They shortly reached the vault and the mine cart screeched to a halt. Emily hastily got off and leaned against the wall, breathing deeply so that her nausea and swimming vision might subside.

"Are you okay, miss?" Griphook asked, showing a small semblance of kindness. The goblin quickly revoked this, however, by remarking. "After all, it wouldn't look very good on my report of you died with me as your guide."

Emily didn't answer out of fear that she might pass out from the effort. Her vision was already doubled. Thankfully Grandmother Abby saved her from an impolite silence.

"She's just a little dizzy, Griphook." She turned to her granddaughter. "Emily, I think it might be better for you to stay out here. The vaults can be very dangerous."

Emily simply nodded, and sat against the wall, holding her head.

"Very well," Griphook grumbled, obviously not liking the idea of leaving someone he was assigned to watch alone in the apparently dangerous vaults, but led Grandmother away anyway.

Emily, once she was sure they were out of earshot, closed her eyes, inhaled deeply to subside her nausea, rubbed her temples to try to relieve the massive vertigo headache the mine cart ride had given her, and let out a low groan as the last hour or so of her life finally caught up to her.

Motion sickness was pretty common in the Busch family, and even though Emily had been sure she'd outgrown it, its happening wasn't the majority of what had overloaded her, but it was certainly the tipping point.

It was all too much to handle at once. Magic? Okay, sure. Magic everywhere? Not so much.

She tried to categorize everything she'd seen into the categories the remedial magic book had given her, but it turned out doing so was much harder in reality than simply looking at the diagrams the book had.

So… exploding and reassembling hats… that would have to be cyclical branch function spells. If destroyed, then 'reparo', if normal, then 'reducto'. Rats skipping rope… perhaps a charm of some kind, maybe a lot of animagi. Sure, those made sense. But what about the more fantastic things–the stuff that wasn't just a basic spell or charm but instead a series of them made into a magical machine? How would one classify that? Emily certainly had no idea.

Her vision was stable now, though, and her headache and nausea were subsiding, and so she stood up while still leaning against the wall and tried a tactic she'd heard before of to calm herself: inhale for three seconds, exhale for seven. After about a minute of that, she was finally calmed down, and could once again think about the magic.

"I got myself into this," she reminded herself. "I could've said 'no', but I chose this and now I have to see it through. I want to see it through."

But she hadn't expected it to be this difficult. Emily was very book-smart, and that was one of her great strengths. But when it came to practical application of what she'd learned, she struggled immensely until she was experienced at it. That was the only reason she was having trouble, she assured herself, a little more experience and she'd be totally fine.

About that time, she started hearing Grandmother's and Griphook's voices from the hall they'd gone down, and so she froze so she wouldn't make a sound and listened to try to hear what they were saying.

"So you're sure the vault was accessed only by Hagrid?" That was Grandmother's voice. But which vault did she mean? It couldn't be hers.

"Mrs. Petrel, you have asked this twelve times already." And that was Griphook. He sounded annoyed, even more than usual. "Vault 713 has been accessed only once in the past month, and only by the half-giant, and the access happens to have occurred just today. I do not know which details you are unsure over, but rest assured that your identification is enough for me not to deceive you whatsoever."

Vault 713? Half-giant? What were they talking about?

The footsteps and voices grew louder as the two got closer. "Fine, Griphook, but you rest assured that if you are lying to me in any way, or if the contents of that vault are anywhere but with Hagrid, I will sever your head from your shoulders the moment I see you again."

Emily held back a gasp at the threat, so shocked that she almost missed Griphook's response.

"If that's what you want, then I think you will be disappointed."

Emily quickly drew back a few steps and attempted to look nonchalant as the footsteps finally reached their peak volume and Grandmother Abby and Griphook rounded the corner. Their conversation stopped as well, and Grandmother gave Emily her usual cheerful, eccentric look, which didn't at all match the tone she'd taken with Griphook just a second ago. "Hello, Emily! Are you feeling any better?"

Emily nodded, though she was still kind of frightened from the threat she'd just heard her grandmother make. "Yes."

"Well then, we'd best be on our way out." Grandmother turned her attention to the goblin once more. "Can you take us up, Griphook?"

"Yes, ma'am…" Griphook grumbled, and began to lead them group back to the mine cart.

Ten minutes later she and Grandmother Abby stood outside the doors of the bank. Fifty Galleons had been taken out of Grandmother's account, and were now in a burlap bag in Abby's hand.

Grandmother cleared her throat, looking down at Emily (she had at least two feet on her). "Right, so I've got some business to attend to with Ha–with a colleague," she explained, handing Emily the bag, the school list, and what appeared to be a map. "So I'll leave you with this."

"B-but wait a minute," Emily protested, suddenly panicked at the idea of being alone in the Alley. "Isn't that dangerous? What if I get lost?"

Grandmother dismissed the objections with a wave of her hand. "It isn't easy to get lost here. Besides, nobody will try to hurt you. They'll probably be more afraid you'll hurt them. You'll be fine," she added, seeing Emily was still worried. "If you need help, just go to Florean Flortescue's. You'll be safe there, and I'll wait for you there in an hour or so. Be safe!"

And then she apparated away, just a second after she'd finished talking.

Emily gulped. Suddenly, now that she was alone, the people around her seemed much louder, and the space around her much smaller. She pocketed the bag of money, just to make sure that it wasn't there to entice potential thieves, but didn't know what to do after that. The Alley was completely foreign to her. She was totally lost.

As she looked around, she caught sight of a remarkably tall and large man, and next to him a boy that seemed to be her age with black hair. She wanted to approach them, but a moment later the large man left and the boy went towards a shop called Ollivander's.

Emily let out a small shout of surprise as a hand touched her shoulder, and whipped around to face her potential assailant. She was surprised to be faced with, instead of a fully-grown adult, a boy about her age. He stared at her with wide hazel eyes and flashed a nervous smile. "Whoa there, don't kill me! I just want to say hi!"

Emily took a small step back and studied the boy for a moment. He was taller than she was, but only by a little, had brown hair swept off to the side in the front, and a confident, yet slightly nervous expression, the nervousness probably caused by her reaction. "Um…" she murmured. "Hi."

"Well, you're a shy one, aren't'cha?" The boy grinned. "Don't worry, I don't know any magic. I'm going to be a first year at Hogwarts. I guess you are too? What's your name?"

Emily considered the questions for a minute, sorting out answers. "Um, I'm going to be a first year, yes, and my name is Emily. Emily Busch."

The boy nodded. "Emily. Nice name. I'm Maxwell Verthehart, by the way, but you can just call me Max!" He extended a hand, which Emily tentatively shook.

"Nice to meet you," she said quietly.

Max laughed. "Seriously, you don't have to be so cautious. I won't hurt you."

Emily didn't think herself a very good judge of character, but she thought Max at the very least seemed trustworthy, even if he was a little talkative. She sighed. "All right."

He grinned. "Cool!" Casting a glance at the papers in Emily's hands, he looked very relieved. "Oh, you have a map? This is great! I've been totally lost for at least half an hour by now." He looked her right in the eyes earnestly. "Can I come with you? Please?"

Emily swallowed hard. "Um, sure."

He gave her a smile that made her feel as if agreeing to let him tag along was the nicest thing she could've done with him. "Thanks!" He grabbed her hand, which caused her to recoil for a moment in shock, and began to pull her in the direction of the bookstore, Flourish and Blotts. "Come on, let's go!"

"So, we need to go to… Madam Malkin's for robes next," Max said, turning the map upside down to match the direction they were walking. "And after that all that's left is wands at Ollivander's."

"Oh, so that's where he was going," Emily muttered.

"What was that?"

Emily shook her head. "Nothing. Let's get going."

Over the course of about the past hour, they'd managed to obtain nearly all their school supplies at the various stores. In that time, Max had proven to be a very nice person. He was confident in everything he did, the exact opposite of Emily. It was good that he was around, because otherwise she wouldn't have gotten the shopping done in half the time.

Robes at Madam Malkin's took forever, and Emily spent the time carefully observing Max to try to figure out the traits he had that made him so charismatic. After a while, she was on the brink of giving up. Everything he did seemed to come so naturally to him it was as if she was observing a dog and trying to analyze how it barked.

That was about the point when he noticed how much she was looking at him. She glanced over at him in the sitting room while they were waiting for the robes to be made, but immediately looked away in embarrassment when she saw him staring back at her. She gulped and risked another look over at him and found he was grinning at her.

"You know, you don't have to be so embarrassed about it," he said nonchalantly. "I get it."

"Get… what?" she asked cautiously.

"If you like looking at me, there's no problem."

Emily felt heat rising to her face and pooling in her cheeks and her ears. "N-no, that's not at all what I–what it–"

Max laughed, interrupting her stammered reply. "Relax, I'm messing with you. But for real, you might want to be a little more quick with an answer next time, or some guy might get the wrong idea."

Emily bit her lower lip and made a tiny sound that resembled a mouse's squeak. Madam Malkin chose that exact moment to walk in and cast a curious look at the two. "Your robes are ready. Is something the matter?"

Emily refused to speak for a while after that, not wanting to embarrass herself further.

Conversation came to an utter standstill until the two came to Ollivander's. Max held the door, and Emily ducked inside (even though there was no reason to duck–she was actually rather short).

Her first impression of the interior of the shop was that it was an old bookstore, the kind you might find on the corner of two streets in an old part of town. Upon second glance, though, she noticed that there were a few plants interspersed here and there, and the shelving, like everything else she'd seen in the Wizarding World so far, was slanted.

Almost immediately the smell of wood hit Emily's nose. She realized what she probably should've upon first glance, that the shelves were filled not with books, but with boxes, all the right size and shape to contain wands.

She jumped slightly and the door closed with a clatter behind her, and calmed down as Max walked up beside her. He gave a low whistle. "Dang. Cool place."

Emily thought that was a good summation.

Max walked up to the desk and rang the service bell, crossing his arms and tapping his foot as its sound ended and several seconds passed. At long last, an old man with a saggy face and frizzy hair silvered with age appeared from a door in the back and faced the two with a look that suggested he'd just been woken from sleep. "Yes? What is it?"

Max gave the man, presumably Ollivander, a smile, uncrossing his arms. "Hello, sir. My friend and I are here to purchase wands for our first year at Hogwarts."

"Ah, yes." Ollivander nodded. "First years. I've gotten plenty of those for a wide variety of schools today. For instance, a young Mr. Harry Potter…" He trailed off in pondering, not looking directly at the two anymore.

"Excuse me, but did you say Harry Potter?" Max asked–composure for once his seeming shaken.

"Did I?" Ollivander wondered. "Hmm. I suppose I did."

Emily was confused–confused enough to ask Max, "Who's Harry Potter?"

He seemed excited. "He's a living legend–and living is the key word! He stopped You Know Who as a kid, and then vanished off the map until today!" He glanced at Ollivander. "But he's back?!"

"Now son, I should have you know never forget a face," Ollivander said. "If I believe Harry Potter was here, then Harry Potter was here."

"Yes, sorry, sir," Max apologized with a sheepish grin, seeming ashamed at his outburst.

"Now, if it is no trouble," Ollivander pointed at him. "I can only do wand assessment for one wizard or witch at a time, so kindly exit until you are called for."

"Yes, sir. Right away," Max nodded and exited through the door, mouthing, "Good luck," to Emily as he left.

As the door shut with a clatter, Ollivander gave Emily a stare with his slightly unfocused eyes. The unfocused quality made her feel like he wasn't just looking at her as she appeared to everyone else, but at the intangible qualities about her, the things that were only present in her character.

"Now Ms. Busch," Ollivander said. "I see a large amount of potential in you, even if you do not wish to acknowledge it. I think you will do well in magic, even though you are new to it."

Emily's immediate reaction was to question how he knew her last name and that she was new to magic, but then she realized that there would probably be a way, what with Ollivander's probable experience with magic. There had to be some sort of way for him to discern that information. "Thank you, sir."

"That is not always a good thing, however," Ollivander continued. "I feel as if I may be repeating myself today, but there have been many great wizards, and not all of them good. There was one wizard darker than all the others: He Who Must Not Be Named. You must be careful not to fall into the trap that he and many others have. Do not let yourself be carried away with ability, or you may find yourself down a very dark road." He gave Emily a sharp, focused glare. "Understood?"

"Y-yes, sir," Emily affirmed with a gulp. This was much scarier than she'd expected it to be.

"Well then," Ollivander's serious expression morphed into a friendly smile. "Let's get to the business of your wand fitting." He turned and walked over to one of the shelves, running his finger down a row of the boxes until he reached one in a red box, which he pulled out and opened. "Let's see… seven inches, oak, core of dragon heartstring." He handed Emily the wand. "Go on, try it out."

Emily frowned. What was she supposed to do? She had learned a few basic spells, but never thought she would be asked to use them before she got to Hogwarts. "Er… aguamenti," she said, speaking the first spell that came to mind. However, instead of the expected stream of water from the wand's end, it spat a burst of fire that, thankfully, didn't catch anything ablaze. Emily held it at arm's length in surprise and tried and failed to regain enough concentration to put out the flame.

Ollivander, acting quickly, used his own wand to stop the fire, and gingerly retrieved the wand from Emily's hand. "Perhaps not that one," he conceded, putting the wand back in its box.

Emily had to agree.

The wandmaker looked at her carefully one more time before frowning. "No… that couldn't be it. Too much of a coincidence…"

"What couldn't be?"

"And on the same day…" Ollivander continued as if he hadn't heard her. "No, that's ridiculous. But still…" He went behind the counter and pulled a wand box from a place that wouldn't be found without knowledge of its whereabouts or careful investigation. He opened it and handed its contents to Emily. "Nine inches, pine, core of unicorn hair. Perhaps this one will work for you."

Emily looked at the wand and tried to figure out what about it would've caused Ollivander to keep its box off the shelf like that. It was obvious he didn't want it purchased by just anyone, so what was so special about her? "Uh…" she suddenly realized that she needed to use a spell. Perhaps that would reveal something. "Aguamenti."

Immediately the wand began to stream water that soaked the ground right in front of Emily. She stared at the water in amazement, and felt a swell of power inside of her. She was actually doing magic that she could control. It felt incredible, but after a moment she realized that she had an urge for more of that power, an urge that was so powerful it scared her. She quickly shut off the spell, and held the wand gingerly in her fingertips.

"Yes, that's the one," Ollivander said with a nod, seeming almost fearful at the revelation. "As must as I would like to say it has not, that wand has chosen you as its owner. If you should choose to purchase a wand from this store, that must be the one."

Emily gulped. She glanced down at the wand, sleek and simple in its design, yet in such a way that it conveyed power. That power made her frightened of it. "Are you sure?"

"Ms. Busch, there is one thing that must be understood in the business of wands," Ollivander fixed her with a hard stare, his eyes focused for once. "The wand chooses the wizard… or in your case, the witch. There are no exceptions. Once a wand has chosen you, no other will ever be able to work the same when you use it." He nodded towards the wand. "That wand is the proper one for you. You may feel free to choose another, but if you want the one which will work best for you, that is the one."

Emily took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to wrap her head around the situation. The wand she was holding now had to be her wand. It didn't seem like there was any practical choice other than that now. "If–if that's the case, then how much for it?"

One minutes later, after the exchange of one Galleon and two Sickles, Emily left the store in a slight hurry, the wand clenched in her hand, her already-long sweater sleeves pulled down even farther than normal in order to hide it as much as possible.

She already didn't feel comfortable with it as it was, much less with everyone seeing her carrying it. Ollivander's reaction to it being the right wand for her had been enough to scare her. What could it be about it that would terrify its own creator? Was there some kind of curse on it?

"Well that took a while," Max noted as she closed the door behind herself. He then gained an expression of worry. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Emily wondered how he knew, but then realized her face had to have become pale from her fright. "Er, um… I'm fine," she answered lamely. Sure, like that would fool anyone.

It did. Somehow. "Oh, okay then!" Max grinned. "My bad." He crossed his arms and looked at the door to the wand store. "Well, I guess I'm next."

Emily nodded. She would have to wait for him outside until he was finished, which would give her plenty of time alone with her thoughts. She wasn't sure she wanted that.

However, Grandmother suddenly appearing at her side spared her that painstaking aloneness. However it didn't spare her nearly having a heart attack from the shock of the unexpected appearance (or had it been an apparation? She hadn't seen whether it was sudden or if Grandmother had simply snuck up on her). As it was, she stumbled back and almost dropped her wand in the process.

Grandmother didn't appear to be disturbed by her appearance out of thin air, though. "Ah, there you are!" She clapped Emily on the shoulder. "I see you've gotten your school shopping done." She then cast a glance backwards over her shoulder at Max. "And who would you happen to be?"

Max looked nervous (Grandmother's manner tended to have that effect on people) but still tried to smile. "Hello, ma'am. I'm Maxwell Verthehart." He extended a hand. "And you are?"

Grandmother turned and shook Max's hand. "I'm Emily's grandmother. You can call me Abigail. Nice to meet you, Maxwell."

"Likewise."

"Are you friend of Emily's?"

"Ah, no–well, not yet. We just met today." Max shrugged. "I hope to be, though. Your granddaughter is very nice."

Grandmother gave him a small, genuine smile. "Well, I know I would see no problem in that."

How had he done that? Emily was dumbfounded. Somehow Max had managed to amiate (word I made up since I couldn't find a good one–means "to make friendly") Grandmother in an exchange of only a few words. What was his technique? How was he so good with people?

"However, if there is no pressing reason for her to stay here, Emily and I must go at once," Grandmother continued.

"No reason at all," Max assured her. He turned his attention to Emily. "Hey, find me on the train. I'd love to talk some more."

And with that Maxwell Verthehart made his exit by entrance through the door to Ollivander's.

Grandmother put her hands on her hips. "Well, he seems like a nice boy." She looked down at Emily. "So, are you all ready to head back home?"

Emily nodded, clenching her wand even tighter in her fist. "Yes, I am."

"All right then." Grandmother drew her wand, but as she did, a bag fell out of her cloak. She grumbled and stooped down and picked it up, mumbling something about a hole in her pocket, but not quickly enough to prevent Emily from getting a look at it.

"What's that?" Emily asked.

Abby put the bag in another pocket (presumably a different one–without holes) and cleared her throat, looking uncomfortable. "Oh, nothing much important. Just a package I have to deliver. Come on, now, let's get you home."

Emily found it hard to believe that the bag wasn't important, what with how Grandmother had acted about it, but she held her tongue and attempted to keep her stomach under control as Abby grabbed her shoulder and apparated the two back to the Busch apartment. It couldn't be that important. Besides, she was leaving for school in just a few days. She had much better things to worry about than some bag.

Such as (though she didn't know about it quite yet) finding platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

 **Coming Soon... Chapter 4- Platform Nine and Three-Quarters**


End file.
